After Death

by D. B. Douglas

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He said flatly.

  She could see his mind was made up and softened. It was another of her many characteristics that he adored so much; she hated to part on a negative note — even if it was his fault.

  “How’s the sore on your stomach?” She asked, changing the subject and making a move to lift up his shirt. He danced away and made for the front door, forced to lie — Again.

  “It’s fine — I have to go. Fernando’s waiting.”

  Of course, it wasn’t fine — Doctor Turner’s shot had helped but it still stung when he moved and the odd wound hadn’t scabbed over. He paused and looked back at her. Whoever created guilt was killing him, he thought.

  “Just bear with me, alright?”

  She nodded and held his gaze.

  “Always.”

  He couldn’t resist. Her face, her behavior was so… so… magnificent. He raced back to her and kissed her deeply. So many marital problems in the world and he had the best wife in the world!

  He turned away finally and stepped into the night knowing that whatever happened, she would support him. The thought warmed and comforted him — She had his back — always had, always would.

  ***

  Frank tucked his VW into a narrow parking spot on a Hollywood side-street, headlights illuminating three or four used condoms in the gutter.

  He got out of the car and several punks loitering on the steps of the apartment building stared at him as he checked the address on the slip of paper in his hand. Yep, this was the place — top-notch, he thought. How could Fernando live here?

  He had to squeeze past the group that looked like they were straight out of the eighties punk scene — One even had a spiked up Mohawk and another wore black leather head to toe, with fingerless gloves. They made no effort to clear the way as he skirted around them and they followed his every move with obvious contempt. One of them in tri-tone hair (dark blue, purple, and red) spat something nasty on the building wall and made a comment after him that caused the others to snicker. When he reached the security door to the complex, he was about to look for Fernando’s apartment number on the small board hanging nearby to get buzzed in — but instead noticed that the door was ajar. Nothing like tight security in such a safe area, he thought with a sarcastic edge.

  He slipped inside, hurried up the three flights of open stairs and followed the faded numbers and arrows on the walls until he found apartment 311.

  Even before he knocked, he could hear the sound of thumps and moans from inside and recognized Fernando’s impassioned voice saying something low in Spanish and a woman’s voice in even lower, huskier tones responding.

  He hesitated — and was lost. Once the woman’s orgasm started, he felt he had to wait until it finished or he’d appear to have been listening at the door the whole time (which he was).

  The screams went on for several minutes and Frank grew increasingly uncomfortable. What if someone saw him there? — He’d look like a voyeur! And what if Fernando heard about it — how would that look?

  The screams finally subsided and now there were only occasional thumps and soft moans. Finally, he thought. He knocked on the peeling door — He couldn’t wait forever, what if they started again?

  Fernando opened the door, hair in a disheveled pile, clothes partially dragged on, an equally rumpled woman half draped over the sofa behind him.

  It was a long moment before he spoke and Frank could almost see his pupils slowly losing their dilation from his previous arousal. A wipe at them with his hand and it was gone.

  “I can’t believe I agreed to this, Frank.” He groaned. “What’re we lookin’ for again?”

  “Anything suspicious.” Frank replied, trying not to look at the woman who showed no signs of embarrassment at being splayed across the couch, sweaty and post-ravaged, her cleavage exposed. If he didn’t know better he’d think she was even giving him a bit of a flirty look…

  “I’ll wait in the car.” He said, deciding to beat a hasty retreat and walking quickly back down the stairs.

  Frank heard Fernando behind him mumble: “Shit, the things I get talked into…” and glanced up from below to see him shiver in the evening cold and pull his pants the rest of the way up.

  The woman arrived naked in the doorway and Frank paused in his descent, fascinated. She embraced Fernando and he squeezed her butt and gave her a big sloppy kiss, then whispered hoarsely in her ear, the sound easily filtering down to Frank as though intended for him.

  “I’ll be back — Don’t finish again without me, Rosa.”

  Fernando pulled away from her and stumbled for the stairs and Frank hustled to stay ahead of him — and out of sight.

  CHAPTER 16 – A Night at the Hospital

  The last thing Fernando wanted to do at night was go back to the hospital… but Frank had been worried — really worried… And Fernando had to admit there was something to it — He couldn’t deny that the patients had been acting strange lately; agitated and nervous all the time. Maybe “scared” was a better way to put it — but he’d never liked that word in English or in Spanish. It always somehow seemed to make things seem worse — larger than they were. He preferred “nervous”. Did it have anything to do with old Eli telling lies about his past? Or the nasty things he may or may not have done when he was younger? Fernando really doubted it. But something wasn’t right… and if it would make Frank feel better then he was willing to go along with it and check things out, what could it really hurt… After all, it was only one night…

  At first he was worried about them getting in without being seen but then he realized it wouldn’t be a problem. There’d been more lay-offs at the hospital and the only security guard, another youngster, was the first to be let go. Not that he’d be missed. Fernando had heard he slept at his post most of the time anyway.

  Frank parked two blocks away and told him it was so that no one would recognize his car and so that they could approach the hospital from the rear alley. Fernando thought this was pretty smart. They weren’t really doing anything wrong but it was better to be cautious anyway.

  They quietly looped around to the side entrance where there were no lights and Fernando fumbled through his large ring of keys, trying one after another in the lock without success.

  “What’s the problem?” Frank asked. “I thought you had the right keys?”

  “I do.” Fernando grumbled. “But I usually don’t use this one — I go in the front door like normal people.”

  He tried another one. Again, it didn’t fit. He shot Frank a look.

  “We better not get caught, Frank.”

  “By whom? You told me yourself they laid off the night crew to save money.”

  Fernando dropped the key ring and it clanged loudly against the ground.

  “Fuck!” He hissed.

  He tried to scoop them back up as quietly as he could and almost dropped them again. He wasn’t scared — really he wasn’t. He was just starting to feel stupid — like he’d been talked into something that he knew he’d regret. And now it was too late to back out without seeming like a wimp.

  “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.” Frank said calmly, standing beside him.

  Fernando glared again as he inserted yet another key into the lock. This time, it turned.

  “Yeah, sure —” He said, his voice dripping sarcasm as he pushed the door and held it wide open for Frank. “Last time I heard that, I got crabs.”

  ***

  The inside of the hospital at night was dark and absolutely still. The floor tile and walls that Fernando knew were off-white were now only slightly lighter shades of grey that receded into final blackness at the end of the hall.

  Fernando didn’t like the feel of the place; somehow creepy and ominous. When Frank brought out two flashlights from his coat pocket and offered one to Fernando, he snatched it out of Frank’s hand like a drowning man grabs for a life-line. With what seemed like an overloud CLICK, he switched it on — and hoped th
at the intruding light would lighten the atmosphere of this place and his mood along with it. Somehow it seemed to do the opposite. The way the flashlight beam cut such a narrow path before being easily swallowed up by the shadows seemed unnatural. He swung the beam around as if he could paint the walls with it. The effect seemed pathetic — useless — the darkness was in control — it would not allow itself to be so easily diluted.

  Frank followed suit and switched his flashlight on as they began to move down the hall, but even with the two beams, the effect was meager. Their every step sounded thunderous — Echoes reverberated off the hard surfaces and created a stirring in the air. Frank whispered to Fernando and it sounded somehow oddly altered:

  “I’ll take the West wing, near Rachel’s room. Why don’t you take a look around the other side, near Lidia’s?”

  Frank swiveled the light towards Fernando to see his reaction and he mutely nodded — although what he immediately wanted to say was — Why are we splitting up? Can’t we just patrol the place together? And what are we looking for anyway? But he refrained, again afraid to seem weak. So he was a little superstitious… So he wasn’t a big fan of the dark… Did he want Frank to know that? No way. He finally found his voice and replied in an even lower whisper than Frank in an attempt to hide his nervousness.

  “Lotta echoes in this place…”

  Even as he said this, the words seemed to amplify and reproduce, scattering and twittering off the walls. He was now even more unnerved. Frank’s face looked a ghostly pale in the flashlight glow, staring at him.

  “3:30 back here, right?” he asked Frank meekly.

  Frank nodded vigorously so that Fernando could easily see the movement.

  “You should set your alarm.” He suggested.

  “Yeah.” Fernando agreed, holding his wrist-watch close to his eyes as Frank shone his flashlight on the Donald Duck face. Even this Disney character watch that his daughter had picked out for him couldn’t lighten his mood.

  Mid-way through setting the timer, Fernando got a thought that troubled him and made him stop abruptly.

  “Frank — If this was for your story, you’d tell me, right?”

  He’d tried to sound casual but it came out with an edge. It was a valid question, it was why he’d taken the job in the first place…

  Frank replied with a trace of annoyance.

  “Of course.”

  Frank turned on his heel and headed towards the West wing, flashlight beam receding, swinging left and right as he walked. Fernando paused in the dark watching it, then puffed out his chest and strode swiftly East. He didn’t feel it but he began whistling and Frank chuckled far behind him as he recognized the tune; the theme to “Ghostbusters.”

  ***

  Frank made his way along easily, his only concern that his footsteps sounded like those of a giant in the stillness. As he neared Rachel’s room he found himself moving more softly, more aware of the invasion of his presence. The flashlight beam was a tiny white thread before him that he followed slowly… carefully…

  Her door loomed before him and a dread began to build at what he might find if he looked inside. He found himself moving ever slower, taking smaller and smaller steps.

  A sound to his right startled him and he pivoted, trying to swing the flashlight towards the source of the disturbance. He misjudged the distance to the wall and slammed his hand into a framed picture, the glass breaking and the shards and flashlight landing in a noisy pile on the floor.

  The inevitable drip, drip, drip and the stinging pain across his knuckles told him what he would see if he were to shine the light on his hand or the ground. Above him, the source of the initial sound continued, a window blind moving in the wind — the window left partially open.

  He remained frozen in his tracks, flashlight beam on the floor canted at a strange angle, the drip, drip, drip continuing in an off-rhythm harmony with the fluttering blind. He would have to look at his cut hand — he had to — he needed to see how bad it was and what he would need to do about it… But first he would need to retrieve the flashlight…

  He took several deep breaths in an effort to steady himself — to prepare for what was to come. He wasn’t sure if he should imagine the worst — his hand sliced off almost to the bone — hanging by a last glistening sinew. The reality would pale in comparison — or if it would be better to focus on a perfectly healthy hand — try to overpower the reality with what he wished it to be…

  He hadn’t decided yet when he grabbed the flashlight and swiveled the shaking beam towards his opposite hand. The air in his lungs vanished like it was vacuumed out at high speed, he could feel his blood pressure drop, his legs weakening beneath him.

  “Oh, shit..!” He heard himself exclaim as if it were someone else that saw the jagged gash across his knuckles, all the deep red blood running off his hand, streaming onto his leg, over the floor…

  Oh, God, Blood!

  He staggered, turned aside, trying to will it away, gasping — trying to restore air to his lungs. He pulled his arm sleeve down with his good hand, tried to cover the wound and lessen the bleeding and that horrible drip, drip, drip sound that seemed to be building and reverberating and filling the entire hallway.

  He struggled for breath and tried to talk himself through it, tried to force himself to get calm and avoid a full phobic attack that would leave him paralyzed and completely helpless for either Fernando or someone else to find when they later happened across him.

  “It’s just a flesh wound… Just a scratch… Don’t think about it…”

  His voice sounded artificial — forced — But it was working — Just like it had with Jackie in the dream he had had a while back… It was working!

  He felt control return and for a moment marveled that the wound didn’t hurt any more — The glass must’ve been razor sharp — so sharp he couldn’t feel it when it — Again his mind interjected severely — What was he doing?!? Stop thinking about it! Get going — Move along! Do what you’re here to do!

  He moved to just outside Rachel’s room feeling better about his hand (what hand? His mind quickly interceded) but worse about what he might find in this terrifying place and even more to the point, what he might find inside Rachel’s room.

  But his impetus was gone. He decided then and there that he’d been through enough — there was no reason to go inside Rachel’s room — there hadn’t been any disturbance — He could just as easily take up position outside her door and if anything happened, he’d know about it and could then react.

  He knew on a gut level it was chicken shit — but so be it — it was all he was willing to do.

  He used the flashlight and navigated further down the hall to where there were a couple of folding chairs against the wall. He brought one back, and as quietly as he could, unfolded it, and set it outside Rachel’s room.

  Why he did what he did next, he couldn’t say — it just seemed like the right thing to do — maybe it was to make up for his prior lack of courage — And even as he did it, he knew it was similar to Fernando’s false bravado in whistling a comedic tune even though he had been clearly afraid. It was to make himself feel better — braver — it was a dare as though to say — You see, I’m not afraid of you! (whoever or whatever you are).

  He went back down the hallway and moved the second folding chair about ten feet away from Rachel’s door, placed it in the center of the hallway, and faced it towards the first. Then he dug deep in his pocket for Paula Danner’s high school ring. When he brought it out, he rolled it between his fingertips, feeling foolish about what he was going to do.

  “Aw, what the fuck.” He mumbled and placed the ring on the floor before the second chair.

  Did he really think he could bait someone or something out into the open? How crazy was this?

  He returned to just outside Rachel’s door, sat down heavily and turned to look at the dim outline of the other chair and the slight glimmer of the ring on the floor in front of it. He shook his head at th
e stupidity of this idea — Where’d he get such a ridiculous notion? And who was he trying to prove something to anyway? Was he trying to convince himself he was less of a coward by doing this?

  He settled back to watch and wait — fully aware that the gauntlet had only been thrown because there was no real possibility that anything would come from it — It had been more hollow posturing — A characteristic he usually despised and here he was, doing it himself…

  ***

  The cafeteria looked ghostly and Fernando didn’t like it one bit. To see the empty tables and chairs without the patrons he’d gotten so used to seeing crowded around them was unnerving. And the room was so absolutely still. He moved past the tables quickly, heading for more familiar territory — the kitchen — a place he was usually anxious to leave but now eager to occupy.

  He pushed through the swinging doors and felt immediately more comfortable. Everything was the same as he’d seen it every day for the past few years. Even in the half-light, the long grilling stove sat as it always had against the entire length of the room. The hanging pots and pans and utensils hung where they should and were calm and motionless. The serving counter was clean and had the faint sheen of often-wiped stainless steel and the area below awaited the different tins and trays of steaming food for serving the patrons as it always had. There was nothing to fear here. There was nothing amiss. Everything was exactly as it should be despite Frank’s concerns.

  Frank had asked him to check the rest of the wing but now that he was here, he saw no reason to leave. Why should he? All was calm and quiet and if something were to happen (although he really had no idea what this might be and Frank had been evasive when he’d asked him) he would certainly hear it from here. With the intense quiet of the place, the slightest sound would have the effect of an explosion.

  He looked around the dimly lit kitchen and decided that, since he was here, he may as well do something with his time. He could start on the prep work that preceded every meal — He’d be back first thing in the morning anyway and if he began now, there’d be less to do before the breakfast crowd was served. As long as he was quiet, no one would be the wiser. Not the patients, not the staff, not Frank. He pulled a huge can of Crisco out of the cupboard and slid a long serving tray out of a drawer. He pulled some latex gloves from the nearby dispenser, slipped them on and began greasing the tray.